


You Belong to Me

by lacedwithlilacs



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, PWP, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 18:17:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/776506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lacedwithlilacs/pseuds/lacedwithlilacs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac and Combeferre become increasingly handsy with Enjolras as they all drink their wine. Grantaire doesn't miss the behaviour, but he waits until he meets Enjolras at home to deal with it. He makes sure that Enjolras remembers who he belongs to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Belong to Me

Grantaire brings the bottle of wine to his lips and tips it upwards, vertically towards the ceiling, almost nearing the bottom of the bottle. The wine is sweet on his tongue as he lets it soak into his pallet, his eyes locked on the blonde curls at the front of the Musain. Enjolras smiles, bright and wide and Grantaire thinks it's such a good look on him. Perhaps if Enjolras let himself relax every once in a while, had a bottle or so with Grantaire, and just let himself go for one night, he'd smile more like that.

Instead though, when Enjolras smiles, it's Combeferre who places his arm on Enjolras' upper arm and laughs with Grantaire's god. The entire evening seems to be this way, Combeferre and Courfeyrac becoming increasingly touchier with Enjolras as they drink their own wine. Their hands wander from Enjolras' shoulder, down his arm, on his waist, his hip. They're all brief touches, just friendly hands patting Enjolras' shoulder or gripping his arm when they let out a laugh, but the wine goes down Grantaire's throat with a lump behind it.

He knows better than this, to whine and complain about something so trivial. Combeferre and Courfeyrac are Enjolras' right and left hand men, his closest friends, and Enjolras had told him that until the cause was won, that he could not devote time publically to Grantaire. Even that had shocked Grantaire a little bit, when he'd been naked in Enjolras' sheets as Enjolras worked on pamphlets by the light of his candle. Enjolras' back was dark but the pale, thin lines running down, hugging his muscles were still visible to Grantaire. Grantaire had laid back in Enjolras' bed on his back, staring at the wood ceiling and wondered what Enjolras could possibly mean by public affection between them. He had yet to figure this riddle out.

When Grantaire sets down the now empty bottle, the glass clinks between two other empty bottles and Grantaire scowls at them. He has long memorized the price of wine at the Musain, but sometimes it was a bit hard to always sustain a drinking habit as intense as his. Instead, he puts the three bottles on his tab and wanders upstairs, almost sickened by the sight of Courfeyrac's hand on Enjolras' hip, gripping gently.

Grantaire only stays upstairs for an hour, chitchatting with various members of Les Amis and the other customers. At one point, Jehan comes up to him, tucks a lock of his honey blonde hair behind his ear and leans in close so no one else will hear, "Montparnasse is joining me tonight and you are welcome to attend as well." Grantaire shakes his head and Jehan looks a bit disappointed, but also excited at the opportunity to be alone with Montparnasse.

After an hour, Grantaire makes his way back downstairs to find it almost deserted. Enjolras, he assumes has gone home, along with most of the others save for Courfeyrac. A woman, pretty enough, Grantaire concludes, sits on his lap and kisses at Courfeyrac's neck. Both are heavily intoxicated and Grantaire gives a half glare in their direction, though Courfeyrac doesn't catch it. Instead, Courfeyrac lets out a gasp when the women presumably nips at a sensitive spot on his skin. Grantaire stumbles out of the Musain, into the cool, deserted Paris night, and makes his way in the direction he feels his entire body being pulled.

The streets of Paris are dead silent and Grantaire feels as though he's making enough racket to wake everyone by just walking. He keeps on though, his feet heavy and he longs to sit down, lay down and die on the street, but he finally comes to the building he's been looking for and begins up the stairs. There are more stairs than he remembers there being, but rarely has he come here alone and intoxicated at the same time. He finds the door and opens it without any resistance of a lock and he grins to himself, knowing full well that it has been left open for him. He isn't quiet opening the door, instead almost crashing through it and closing it with a loud clicking of the latch.

Grantaire can make out Enjolras' body in the bed, a large lump with the blankets pulled over most of his body, leaving only his upper chest visible. Grantaire grins and begins pulling off his own clothing, his jacket, vest, shirt, socks and shoes and throwing them into a pile on the floor. Enjolras will probably wake in the morning and smack Grantaire on the side of the head for it, but there's little space for Grantaire to keep his clothing other than the floor in the tiny apartment.

When he's finally almost naked, save for his pants, he walks the two steps over to the bed and looks at Enjolras' sleeping form. In the dim light, Grantaire makes out the steady rise and fall of Enjolras' chest and the side position, Enjolras facing Grantaire in his sleep with his left hand propped underneath the pillow. Grantaire looks over the sleeping form, his eyes running down the lithe body and he catches sight of a corner of blanket, up turned.

Grantaire pulls it up and ducks under the red fabric, finding Enjolras' body in the dark. He presses his lips just below Enjolras' navel, trailing upwards as he makes his way up along the pale body until he's at Enjolras' throat. Enjolras squirms beneath him, rolling onto his back and Grantaire immediately hovers over him, eventually coming to Enjolras' jaw, his cheeks and then his lips. It isn't until Grantaire presses his lips against Enjolras' that Enjolras shows any sign of being awake.

Enjolras brings his hands up Grantaire's sides sleepily and embeds them in his shaggy hair, pulling Grantaire closer and kissing him anywhere he can reach. They exchange these soft kisses, Grantaire at Enjolras' jaw and Enjolras at Grantaire's cheek, Grantaire at Enjolras' throat and Enjolras at Grantaire's forehead; but they always come back to each other's lips, like coming up for breath. "Do you like this?" Grantaire asks as he kisses at the base of Enjolras' throat, feeling the hum of Enjolras' sleep filled approving response against his lips. Grantaire reaches up, taking Enjolras' wrists and pins them down onto the bed, holding his god in place. Enjolras' eyes look wild in the dark.

"Do Combeferre and Courfeyrac touch you like this?" Grantaire asks between kisses and feels Enjolras still beneath him. "Do they share you equally? Does one of them hold you while the other presses kisses to your face?" Grantaire never stops kissing, but Enjolras does. "Have you let them touch you in this manner? Let them feel the softness of your skin beneath your clothing?"

Enjolras begins squirming beneath Grantaire, only half fighting to be freed from his captor. Grantaire is holding his wrists down too tightly, though they both know that if Enjolras truly wanted free, he would be able to take it from Grantaire without much effort. "I wouldn't dare Grantaire!" Enjolras hisses out, careful to keep his voice low yet firm, "I am faithful to only you. I am insulted you believe I would be so free-"

Grantaire cuts Enjolras off with an unreciprocated kiss to his god's lips. "I know," Grantaire says and Enjolras bites at the bottom lip, "You are as dedicated to me as you are to France." Enjolras stills again beneath Grantaire, but this is more subdued, obedience rather than to process the words Grantaire was saying. "Combeferre and Courfeyrac gets handsy with you though, especially so tonight," he says and nips gently at the crook of Enjolras' neck. A soft, wild moan escapes Enjolras' lips. "I want you to remember who is with you at night."

Slowly, Grantaire loosens his grip on Enjolras' wrists. Enjolras wraps his arms loosely around Grantaire's neck as Grantaire pulls on Enjolras' trousers, pulling them down and shucking them off as best he can despite the blanket. They land on the floor, Grantaire hears them hit the wood, but he isn't certain where. He follows suit and hopes that they land somewhere near Enjolras', but his attention is immediately strained by Enjolras' kisses to his lips and the way that Enjolras brings his hips up and grinds against Grantaire.

It had taken months to get to this point, Grantaire thinks upon feeling Enjolras' cock, hardening quickly from just the kisses alone. The first time they'd fucked, when the weather was still cold and snow fell while Enjolras came, it had taken a lot of coaxing on Grantaire's part to even touch Enjolras' dick. He was thankful that now he was able to break into Enjolras' apartment with little effort, smother the god in kisses and get what he wanted. Now, Enjolras grips at the back of Grantaire's neck, pulling on the thin hairs at the base of his head as he rubs himself against Grantaire's muscular thigh.

Grantaire forces Enjolras down, applying his body weight to Enjolras' hips and shoulders to keep the smaller man still. "You are mine," Grantaire whispers into Enjolras' ear, framed by beautiful pale golden curls. Enjolras groans, attempting to roll his hips against Grantaire again, only to be pinned down by Grantaire's legs. "You will remember this." Grantaire lifts his hand up to Enjolras' mouth, guiding his two index fingers in and letting Enjolras' tongue slide against the pads of his fingers, along the knuckles.

He moans against the feeling, Enjolras working harder and rougher until Grantaire's fingers are dripping with Enjolras' saliva. His lips replace his fingers, pressed up against Enjolras' as he guides his fingers down to Enjolras' entrance. They shift slightly, Grantaire unpinning Enjolras' legs and letting him bring his legs up around Grantaire's hips, exposing himself for Grantaire. Grantaire works his first finger in roughly, Enjolras barely gasping and throwing his head back, exposing his neck, long and beautiful, for Grantaire to kiss.

Grantaire sucks softly, leaving marks on Enjolras' neck that Enjolras will glare at him for tomorrow. Tomorrow, Enjolras will wear a shirt with the collar buttoned completely, a tie around his neck and call any mark commented on by Les Amis a mark from Patria. Grantaire loves it. Enjolras writhers beneath him, already fucking himself on Grantaire's finger and Grantaire is certain that if Enjolras didn't have so much pride, he would be begging for more. "Who do you want?" Grantaire whispers into Enjolras' ear as he finally adds the second finger, Enjolras' grip on his shoulders tightening until the knuckles are white. "Who do you want to fuck you?"

Enjolras' brow is slick with sweat, his pale body flushing red with desire, as he rocks his hips steadily in time with Grantaire's fingers. "You, Grantaire," Enjolras pants out, quiet like always, barely even audible to Grantaire only inches above him. It's a marvel to watch Enjolras, Grantaire thinks, even after so many times of doing this. The way that Enjolras keens for Grantaire, wants to be fucked so badly by the cynic, yet prideful and with his head held high. It makes Grantaire want to shower him in love, kiss every problem away, overwhelm Enjolras with emotion, all while making Enjolras' insides come apart with every thrust. Enjolras is a delicate balance and Grantaire is never certain what he's done to deserve such an honor.

Grantaire extracts his fingers from Enjolras, fully prepared now. He spits into his palm, coating himself with his spit before he positions himself. Enjolras takes him in with a low moan, his legs gripping at Grantaire's hips tighter and his body arching upwards, closer to the drunkard. Grantaire pushes himself gently against Enjolras' entrance, testing him before he enters, groaning at the feeling of Enjolras tight around him. "I'm going to make you scream my name," Grantaire says as he starts a quick, rough pace.

From the beginning, Enjolras is already louder than most nights, soft gasps and groans falling from his lips as Grantaire fucks him hard. Grantaire grasps Enjolras' hips, pushing up from him and onto his knees, the god's hands falling from around the cynic's neck and gripping the sheets to try and keep himself from crying out too loudly. Grantaire's movements are sloppy and quick from the alcohol, but they're hard with bite behind them and he knows that Enjolras is reaching his edge. Enjolras' head is thrown back, his beautiful golden locks splayed out around him like sunlight, mouth hanging open with small, labored gasps.

Grantaire tries to fuck Enjolras harder, grasping Enjolras' hips tighter and thrusts until he finds himself on the very edge of the cliff as well. He grasps his god's dick, pumping him in time with his thrusts. Enjolras comes with a shout, fingers tangled in the sheet and knuckles white with the tightness of his grip, "Grantaire!" The name falling out of Enjolras' mouth so loud sends Grantaire over the edge himself, his usually silent god crying his name out during orgasm. Grantaire is certain this moment will be at the front of his memory for years.

Grantaire brings his hand coated with Enjolras' orgasm to his lips, licking himself clean before he leans down over Enjolras' stomach and does the same to Enjolras' body. Enjolras' eyes are shining in the pale moonlight, now higher in the sky and brighter than before, just barely enough to make out the beautiful eyes. Grantaire leans over Enjolras again, pressing his lips to Enjolras' in a chaste, quick kiss before collapsing on the bed next to him. Enjolras quickly reaches over, wrapping his arms around Grantaire as though he were about to leave. "Who leads you in bed at night?"

Enjolras presses his nose against Grantaire's neck, the soft ghosting of lips against dark, tanned skin. "Grantaire," Enjolras whispers, "and no one else." Grantaire smiles against Enjolras' curls and honestly believes that this is the most loving his god has ever sounded about another human being.


End file.
